


That's my Cue

by Kingkiwi



Series: Fun 'verse [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blasphemy, Dark-ish, Gen, Partnership, Prayer, Religion, Supernatural Elements, Unintended Consequences, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 21:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4537902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingkiwi/pseuds/Kingkiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lord, please help my husband, Minjun.”</p>
<p>“Ooh, what can I do for him?” Hoseok hisses, leaping over the closest pair of clasped hands, light as a feather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's my Cue

It’s not that he can’t interfere; it’s that he doesn’t. Where’s the challenge, the fun in knocking everything down with a wrecking ball when you can do it a pebble at a time?

A thousand whispers are more powerful than a shout.

***

_Dear God…_

“And that’s my cue,” Hoseok says gleefully, ears burning as the prayer echoes, though only he can hear it. Taehyung is sharpening his knives again and doesn’t even look up. “You’re so boring,” Hoseok pouts, flitting behind Taehyung, playfully disappointed when the man doesn’t even flinch. He does grunt, though. 

“Guess I’m on my own for this one.” He’s whining now, and flicks an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of his purple suit. “Catch you on the flip side,” he says, throwing a sloppy two finger salute at Taehyung’s back.

The woman who needs some assistance is wearing a pink cardigan and holding hands with a priest and a man young enough to be her son. Hoseok appears in the middle of their six-person prayer circle without disturbing a single mote of dust. A quick look around has him running an appreciative hand down the front of his dusky purple blazer – these people have no sense of fashion. Oh, how he’s made to suffer amongst the plebeians.

“Lord, please help my husband, Minjun.”

“Ooh, what can I do for him?” Hoseok hisses, leaping over the closest pair of clasped hands, light as a feather.

“He has a small tumor in his lungs and we can’t tell if it’s benign. We have to decide if we should operate or leave it be. Operating could be dangerous and cause more damage if it’s benign, but if we wait and it’s cancerous, there’s no telling how fast the cancer could spread.”

“Oh dang,” Hoseok says in sympathy, biting a knuckle. “Tough call.”

The priest squeezes the woman’s hand as she takes a moment to collect herself. “Lord, please guide us.”

Back in the middle of the murmuring Hoseok points the skylight and snaps his fingers. “Don’t mind if I do.” Towering gray clouds thin and clear, letting the full power of the sun shine onto the circle of church-goers. Hoseok basks in the warmth, lizard-like, as the room lights up around them.

The prayer circle’s eyes are closed, but they too feel the warmth. “Oh Lord, I feel your light,” Pink Cardigan Woman says, scrunching her eyebrows.

Hoseok blows into her ear, giggling when she flinches away ever so slightly. “I’d say it’s time for me to visit dear old Minjun.” He disappears and the room grows dark and cold. 

Minjun is gray-haired and cane-wielding. When Hoseok drops in, the man is meditating in the living room in front of a squat altar. Gray curls of smoke rise from a slender stick of burning incense. 

“Hm, are we praying, Mr. Minjun?” Hoseok hums, stepping a circle around the seated figure. “No, not prayer,” he finally decides. “You leave that to your wife. You’re calm, logical, calculating in that wrinkled old head of yours.” Hoseok extinguishes the incense with a wave of the hand. Minjun doesn’t move and the smoke sputters out. 

“A regular level-headed nonbeliever. Ah.” Hoseok swoons, hand held delicately to his forehead. His fall slows to a stop just above the floor and with a small kick, he’s just above Minjun’s crossed legs, staring up into the age-worn face. 

“Don’t worry. _I_ believe in you!” With a poke to the old man’s nose and a giggle, Hoseok disappears. 

The tip of incense begins to burn again, sending a soft coil of smoke to the ceiling. 

***

“Oh, Taehyung, it’s beautiful.” 

Hoseok is hanging upside-down from a branch of the chandelier that sprawls across the middle of the ceiling. He’d taken quite a liking to the mansion where he first located Taehyung and to his immense luck, the previous owners were quite happy to pass the property to new tenants. The screams still made Hoseok feel warm inside, brought to mind whenever he saw the blood splatters in the third floor hallway. 

Taehyung doesn’t question Hoseok’s assertion. He’s watching a bag of popcorn slowly turn in the microwave, face intent. 

Hoseok’s never needed any encouragement anyway. 

“She’s praying for him with a whole prayer circle. There’s even a priest! He, on the other hand, doesn’t believe it’ll do anything, but indulges her because he knows she can’t do anything to actually help. I can’t decide if he’s accepted death or is just playing it cool.” He pouts. “Humans are so weird.”

The corn kernels are popping in earnest now and Taehyung’s standing stock still, watching. 

“What to do? What to do?” Hoseok taps on his chin, eyes dimming, growing blacker and blacker until they’re dead and immense, like pits of suffocating tar. 

The microwave ticks off and emits a few weary beeps. Taehyung pops the door open and pulls the bag out by the tips of his fingers, giving it a shake or two. After dumping the hot popcorn in a metal bowl, he peers up at Hoseok, whose hair is inexplicably not obeying the pull of gravity. 

“She asked for your help,” he says, tossing a piece of popcorn up to Hoseok. 

A pink tongue, long and frog-like, darts out to catch the popcorn in mid-air and snaps back into his mouth. “Well, not mine exactly.” He frowns. “It’s not really her fault that no one’s home upstairs, I suppose. But hey, it’s only kind of me to offer my help while everyone’s out,” Hoseok finally says, smiling. 

He reappears beside Taehyung, scooping up a handful of warm popcorn. It shrivels and blackens in his hands, but he drops it into his mouth anyway, crunching on the pebble-like remains. “I’ve always considered myself a helper. I mean, that’s like my main job. Hoseok the Helper, that’s me. Your wish is my command and all that.”

Taehyung’s made himself home on the couch. There’s a muted soap opera on the TV that he observes with shadowed eyes. 

“See, this is why I wanted us to work together, Taehyung,” Hoseok informs him from his customary place on the chandelier. “You kill people. I make them wish you would. You have good advice. I follow it every once and a while.” He wipes away a fake tear. “We were made for each other.”

He lets his hands dangle toward the floor. “Alright, Taehyung, it’s time to create a miracle!” With a whoop, Taehyung’s left alone in the room with the light of the silent TV.

***

“Oh, thank God!” Pink Cardigan cries, clutching her husband’s hand. She’s careful to avoid the IV line anchored in the back of his hand and smiles up at the doctor. Minjun gives her hand a loving squeeze.

_You’re welcome_ , Hoseok mentally chuckles. 

Their doctor, young and handsome, smiles at the old couple. “This is excellent news, Mrs. Park. The surgery went extremely well, so recovery time should be minimal. The lung tumor was small and benign, but we removed it just to be safe. As long as your husband follows the proper regimen while recovering, he should be just fine.” The doctor flips through the chart. “A nurse will be in shortly to explain the rest and bring pain medication. Let me know if you have any questions.” 

“Oh, thank you, doctor,” Mrs. Park says. The doctor nods and leaves the room, dropping the chart in the cubby by the door. 

“It’s a miracle,” she tells Minjun, who just offers a small smile in return. 

The doctor leans against the wall just outside the door, listening in as his white coat crinkles and burns away into a fitted black leather jacket. The kind face melts away to reveal dark eyes and disturbing teeth that are caught in a grin. “I love happy endings,” he simpers. 

He hears Mrs. Park again, but this time she’s not speaking aloud. 

_Heavenly Father, thank you for looking after my husband._

He can see her without bothering to look inside the room, the prayer working like a camera with bangin’ GPS. She’s hunched over a sleeping Minjun, hands clasped together. 

_Dear Lord, into your hands I commit my spirit. For it is your business, not mine._

“Oh you have no idea how right you are.”

_You will know every shade of my suffering; You will care for me with your perfect fatherhood._

“Since you asked so nicely.” The belief in the words fuels him. Who needs weed when you can get high like this?

_In your loving name I pray. Amen._

“Amen,” Hoseok cackles. 

No one in the hospital hallway or nursing station can see or hear him, but a chill runs through the nurses, prompting one of them to call the maintenance department and ask about the air conditioning. 

***

Six months later

 

Eunseo Park, 67, passed away at 3:30 PM on Sunday, December 13th, 2015 in her home after a short but brave fight with cancer. She is survived by her husband, Minjun Park, two children, and three grandchildren. 

Eunseo loved to knit and was very involved in her church as a Bible Study leader, Sunday school teacher, and greeter. Her faith was one of the most important parts of her life and her family is glad she is able to be with her Lord in Heaven.

The visitation is from 10:00 AM until 11:30 AM on Monday, December 14th 2015 at Richmond and Sons Funeral Home. Memorial service to follow at 12:00 PM on Tuesday, December 15th, 2015. Reverend Jung Hoseok will be officiating. 

 

With one last snip, the obituary falls from the newspaper and lands on Hoseok’s leg. He tosses the scissors away and holds up the tiny printed rectangle. A whole life encapsulated in 150 words or less. It’s poetic or something. 

“It’s odd,” he says to himself, shaking the paper and watching her tiny black and white picture flap back and forth. Taehyung is off somewhere with his knives and silence, doing what he does best. Though he isn’t physically there, Hoseok’s keeping an eye on his wayward partner. 

“You prayed for your husband, but you didn’t pray for yourself.” He frowns down at what’s left of Eunseo Park. 

The chandelier is off and Hoseok’s sitting in the dark, face puzzled. 

In a heartbeat he’s in his room upstairs, the one that’s technically supposed to be a ballroom but has been repurposed. It’s not that Hoseok doesn’t like to dance, but this is the only room that’s big enough for his purposes. He’s quickly running out of space. 

There’s a spot for Eunseo Park in between that horrible bus accident and a front-page picture of a high-rise in flames. Hoseok makes sure she’s centered before pressing with a finger, burning her to the paneled wood wall. He steps back.

There she hangs, a speck, a puzzle-piece in a wall blanketed in grey and black newspaper clippings, each headline more horrific than the last. 

“We had fun, Eunseo.” He shoots a couple of finger guns at her motionless picture. 

Something prickles at the edge of his consciousness and Hoseok glances up, focus shifting. Ever so slowly, words begin to bleed through.

_Dear God…_

“And that’s my cue!”


End file.
